‘Most weekends she went out looking like a prostitute,’ said Christy. Fred turned away, his fists and teeth clenching. ‘Short skirt. Tits you could see from space.’
Fred Blake wheeled round, a sudden inspiration brightening his countenance. ‘Maybe she was dressed practical. For a journey, like.’
Brook nodded. ‘It’s possible. Had she talked about wanting to get away?’
‘No. Like we told the other officer, she was happy,’ said Fred softly. ‘She’s never gone off before. Not without ringing us. Why would she leave her phone?’
‘It’s unusual,’ agreed Brook.
‘It’s unheard of.’ Christy laughed bitterly. ‘The fuss she kicked up to get it.’
‘Did she leave on foot?’
Fred nodded this time. ‘She often walked. It was good for her muscle tone.’
‘It’s Wednesday now,’ observed Brook. ‘You last saw her on Friday, but only reported her missing yesterday morning.’
‘When we found out Kyle Kennedy was missing. It was his party.’
‘They were good friends?’
‘I didn’t think so,’ said Fred. ‘Kyle was. .’
‘A homo,’ snorted Christy. ‘But girls these days don’t mind that, do they?’ She smiled at Brook. ‘They’re not a threat.’
‘I don’t think she was looking forward to going,’ continued Fred. ‘But her mate Fern was away.’
‘Mate, my arse.’ Christy laughed. ‘That dopey cow is just another one of her worshippers. Like you, fawning all over her night and day.’
Fred Blake spun round on his wife. ‘Becky’s missing, for God’s sake, woman! Give it a rest.’
‘Is she fuck. She’s swanning off somewhere on our hardearned cash.’
‘
‘Is that why you didn’t report her missing until yesterday?’ interrupted Brook.
The warring parents fell silent. Finally Fred said reluctantly, ‘Christy may be right.’
‘Halle-fucking-lujah.’
‘We thought she might have gone away. She’s eighteen, very mature, very certain of herself. She’s got a key and comes and goes as she pleases.’
‘So you thought she was staying with friends,’ said Noble.
Fred shrugged. ‘We’d still think that, if it wasn’t for the phone. She was never off it. Texting every minute of the day.’
‘To a boyfriend maybe?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Anyone special?’
‘No chance. She was the special one. They were queuing round the block for her. Not that my Becky is going to get bogged down with one of the local deadbeats and start churning out benefit bums. She has big plans.’
‘Such as?’
‘She’s going to be famous.’ He grinned suddenly, deflected from his loss. ‘A Supermodel. That’s why she didn’t mess around with drink and drugs. It was bad for her skin. Always telling you off for smoking round the house, wasn’t she?’ he said to his wife, who deliberately blew cigarette smoke in his face.
‘So she had nothing she needed to run away from.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Fred rummaged in his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. ‘Here. She got this letter last week from Models Select.’
‘Haven’t you framed it yet?’ jeered Christy.
Brook took the letter and examined it. The heading was basic, the text brief and to the point.
There was an illegible signature but no name typed. Brook looked at the top of the page. The address was 222 Kings Road, London. There was no email address, just a contact telephone number. Brook pulled out his mobile and keyed in the number before handing the letter to Noble.
‘See? She’s known since she was ten that she was special. And she was right. When she’s got her A-levels, she’s out of here and on her way to fame and fortune. She even took her portfolio off the walls to take to London.’ He turned to Brook. ‘Here, you think she might have already gone to London? Decided to pack in her studies?’
Brook glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll certainly check. If you could go downstairs and finish that list of contact numbers for her friends and sort out a recent photograph? We just need to finish off in here.’
To leave two men in their daughter’s bedroom left the Blakes looking momentarily ill at ease, but eventually they padded off towards the stairs. As soon as they turned away, Brook flicked the call button on his phone.
‘That letter’s a fake,’ said Noble. ‘No proper address. No email.’
‘And a spelling mistake,’ agreed Brook, holding the phone to his ear. ‘It looks more like amateur DTP than a company document.’
‘How come her father didn’t spot it?’
‘Too much stardust in his eyes.’ Brook rang off. ‘The phone number doesn’t exist.’ He got to his knees and started searching under the mattress.
Noble started removing all the drawers from the cabinets, looking for documents taped to the underside. ‘But his wife isn’t so star-struck.’
‘I’m guessing she’s not even seen it. She’s not interested.’ Brook planted his face on the carpet and scanned the floor. He pulled a wad of glossy photographs from under the bed.
‘Becky’s portfolio is under here.’ The photographs were in a heap and partially stuck together by the Blu-tack still adhering to the corners of the prints and the wall. Brook prised them apart and arranged them on the mattress. The teenager posed at them in a variety of moods and outfits.
‘I wonder why she took them down?’ asked Noble.
Brook knelt back down to be sure he’d missed nothing. He slipped a latex finger into the small gap between the make-up bureau and the carpet, and slid out a piece of folded paper. He opened it gingerly. This time the letterhead was a more professional affair, with all the usual contact information. Brook read the text quickly and passed it to Noble.
‘She wrote the other letter to herself after receiving this,’ said Brook sombrely. ‘So her parents wouldn’t think she was a failure.’ He smiled sadly down at the photographs. ‘And then she couldn’t face looking at herself.’
‘And bolted because she couldn’t handle it?’
‘Could be — this is our second missing kid in personal turmoil.’
‘It would only be temporary.’
‘Sure, it’s just a failed job application to us but it’s a shattered dream to Becky Blake. This is probably the first time anyone’s said no to her, John. When you glide through your youth without a care in the world, that first reality check is the hardest. And the bigger the dream, the bigger the shock finding out life isn’t lived on your terms. Unhappiness is not a product they sell on TV. Some don’t know how to cope with it.’
‘You’ve got a TV now, have you?’
Brook smiled. ‘It’s just for research. I haven’t joined the human race. Yet.’ He selected one of the photographs of Becky for use in the inquiry. ‘We’d better make a move.’
‘
